


Sacrifice Gone to Waste

by Iamthe_BEES



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Drabble, Explicit Language, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mild Blood, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Bendy/Sammy Lawrence, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28345851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iamthe_BEES/pseuds/Iamthe_BEES
Summary: (Based on prompts; Save me, and Don't call me that)
Kudos: 2





	Sacrifice Gone to Waste

The demon stared in dismay at the gorey display, Henry lay stiffly against the wooden pillar --the only thing supporting his literal dead weight-- his own axe propped into his skull, bright red crimson still spilling out, pooling and mixing with ink, slowly seeping through the floorboards. 

The colour was so out of place in the black and white studio.

The ink demon slowly turned his head to look at his self-proclaimed  _ prophet _ , the man, for once had taken off that damn mask, his inky face filled with obvious pride, white glowing eyes ever expectant. But Sammy hadn’t been expecting what came next.

“What the  _ fuck _ did you do?” Bendy whispered, his gurgling voice cracking, “You’re sick” the demon added softly under his breath. The prophet's expression dropped, utter confusion filling him. Sammy murmured consciously.

“My lord, I don’t think I-” He was cut off before he could finish his words.

“What the actual **FUCK** Sammy?!” The demon damned again, his voice growling. Sammy recoiled at the outburst, he usually was quite conscious around the demon, because despite Sammy believing Bendy normally held no ill intent for him, he was still, well, a _demon._

After a moment without an answer, Bendy turned sparring not a single glance at the corpse of the former animator, opting to walk past it and back into the hallways he had come from. Sammy only stared for a moment trying to register what he’d done, he glanced at the still man, he thought he’d done a fine job getting his Lord a sacrifice. Quikly though, the prophet felt hurt, longing for answers,  _ desperate  _ for the freedom he’d been promised. 

So pulling on his mask once again, Sammy scurred forward to not lose the ink demon within the winding halls of the music department. 

Bendy stopped in his track after rounding a corner, he heard Sammy’s footsteps approaching with haist, and truly the demon didn’t have the will to avoid the man, despite the boiling urge to strangle the worthless life out of the inky man, see him writhe and kick for air that would not be allowed. 

_ By now Bendy thought that it’d be mercy. _

The approaching steps stopped a safe distance away from the ink demon, Sammy kept his hands close to his sides occasionally grasping at the fabric of his overalls. Bendy didn’t turn around merely staring at the ground idly.

“My Lord-”

“Don’t call me that” scowling the demon once again cut off the ex music director.

“But, my Lord-” Sammy urged, to no success.

“I’m not your ‘Lord’ Sammy” Bendy scolded, throwing a glance over his shoulder at the musician “I’m not some ‘saviour’ or ‘angel’. Imma  **Demon** ” he seemed to put great emphasis on the last word. “And if you’re expecting to be freed, with all these sacrifices, and shrines, by  **ME** …“ the words trailed off, Bendy couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence as the thought surfaced; He’d promised Sammy that he’d free him.

Sammy starred, his legs felt weak, and the world seemed to fall away. He looked closely at the ink demon’s face to see if there were any signs that he had misspoken, anything to prove the words were fales, a sick joke. Yet Sammy soon found the answer.

“You said you’d save me” a reluctant murmur echoed in the hall, Sammy’s gaze intently locked onto his  _ Lord _ .

“Yeah, well, guess I lied,” Bendy said, swiftly snatching the mimicking mask of Sammys face. An action he regretted immediately at the sight of Sammy’s eyes, so wide, so hurt, like a lost puppy begging for refuge from the cold truth.

Sammy’s knees buckled and he crumbled to the floor, his head hung low as if in prayer. He was able to form a few weak words, which he spilled in a desperate fading hope that everything would change, and turn for the better.

“Please my lord,”

“Sammy-” the rebuttal’s cut off.

“Please set me free,” he begged.

“Sammy, I-”

“My lord, what have I done wrong? Why can’t I be saved?” So many questions that never had answers.

Bendy waited silently observing the man’s crumpled body as it started to quiver.

“My Lord,” Sammy managed through sobs “please”


End file.
